


Untoward Actions

by irridescentsong, jcrowquill



Series: Line of Fire [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Continued from before, Getting Together, M/M, Porn, Post-Skyfall, Resolved Sexual Tension, new unresolved sexual tension, this is definitely definitely DEFINITELY not a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irridescentsong/pseuds/irridescentsong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcrowquill/pseuds/jcrowquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A miss-sent text messages leads to interesting consequences, but whether their outcome is good or bad remains to be determined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untoward Actions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lightly reformatted long-form roleplay between tumblr players, horriblyefficient (jcrowquill) and quartermasterofqbranch (irridescentsong).
> 
> jcrowquill writes for Bond and Irridescentsong writes for Q, with some slight overlap and description by both.
> 
> This is the second in a series of long-form roleplay-turned-fics in the 00Q fandom, and is largely supported by the theme that "it's not a relationship," but that's for you to decide. This is set post-Skyfall, and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact either writer for clarification!

Though he had been back on native soil for less than half a day, James Bond was already treating London the way a sailor treated shore leave.  After he returned his equipment and gave the Quartermaster a small, kitschy souvenir of South Korea, the blond was back in his well-maintained sports car and on the road to his fairly empty bachelor flat with the intention of only a brief stop-over at the shops for a bottle of whiskey.

His mind flicked through the names and faces of a dozen beautiful girls who would welcome his company, and then cross-referenced who was actually in his phone for easy invitation.  

As he went through the queue, he was surprised to see the very woman who best suited what he wanted that night - a repeat bedmate by the name of Penelope Green.  In addition to an engaging personality, she also had impossible measurements, mile-long legs, and an absolute lack of inhibition. The two flirted for a few moments before Penny had to take a call on her mobile, and she waved him on indicating that it might be a few minutes longer than he wanted to wait.

With his bag in his hand, he nodded to her as he made his way back to the car park.  He was still thinking of her, remembering in the softness of her skin and the smell of her dark red hair as he climbed into his car once again.  When he was caught at a stoplight he pulled out his mobile and tapped out a quick message.

[text; Q] I just saw you a few minutes ago, but I have to tell you that I would love to feel the insides of your thighs against my hips.

He tossed the sleek little gadget onto the passenger seat and was surprised by the speed with which it buzzed with a response.  He picked it up and read:

[text; Sigma] Well, I can’t say that I’m not intrigued.

The agent was about to reply when he noticed that the response had not come from the ginger with the ample curves, but from the Quartermaster of MI6.  He wasn’t the type to blush, but he could feel the burn of the quick color that flooded to his cheeks as he flicked his gaze between the road and his mobile’s screen.

Apparently, Q’s number immediately followed Penelope’s in his contact list, and there had been a slight, but critical, mistype.

_Fuck._

[text; Q] Ah, Q... I may have sent you a text in error.

[text; Sigma] Oh. Certainly. My apologies.

He let his breath out in a rush, feeling a surge of relief.  He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat again, still feeling the fingers of adrenaline spreading through his abdomen.  That had gone surprisingly smoothly, really; it was just another anecdote that Q could share at the branch about what an absolute tramp 007 was.  

Still, something rang strangely, and as he pulled into his building’s parking garage, his fingers strayed for the phone again.

[text;Q] Wait. You're intrigued? Rather than offended?

By the time he parked the car, he had two texts by way of response:

[text; Sigma] Why would I be offended? I find the idea rather engaging.

[text; Sigma] If you’re not interested, you can disregard it.

When they’d parted company at Heathrow airport, he had found himself uncharacteristically intrigued by the carefully controlled tech.  He was overly interested in the details of him, as well as aspects of his persona (and person) that should never have crossed his mind as a professional.

Assuming that it was just a reawakening of his interest in male conquests, he had discreetly seduced a rather beautiful Korean man during his mission.  It served to take the edge off of his lust and allow him to focus, but it didn’t stop him from his inappropriate line of thought with regards to his colleague, particularly as he compared the two men in his mind.

He was aware that this was the point where there were two options: the Good Decision and the Bad Decision.  The Good Decision would be to laugh it off and bid the other man good night after thanking him for his sense of humor.  Taking this route would take a stronger force of will, but would ultimately be better for both their personal and professional interactions.  The Bad Decision would involve inviting the Quartermaster over to his flat to see if this was some opportunistic mockery.  If it wasn’t, he could satisfy the lust that had persistently outlasted seducing two women and one man.  While it would be fantastic to alleviate that sexual tension, it could go very badly for him if the Quartermaster had plans for anything other than a “no strings attached” evening.

[text;Q] Well, the offer stands, if you don't think it would make a working relationship awkward.

[text; Sigma] I have the ability to keep my relationships separate. I assume you have my address? Or should I come over? My flat is a bit of a mess.

The agent licked his lips.  That had been the Bad Decision and he had every intention of going through with it if given the opportunity.  He had never been very good at denying himself things that he wanted, and he wanted rather badly to find out if the Quartermaster's mouth was as soft as it looked.

[text;Q] My place.  I assume you have the address.

[text; Sigma] Give me 27 minutes.

James sat in the car for a moment longer, thinking on the situation that he was creating.  It was one of those times where he knew he was doing something that he shouldn't and was even telling himself not to do it, but he was still cheerfully throwing himself head-first into the pit of sharks.

Across town, Q took the Tube to the station to Bond’s recorded address and walked the four blocks to it, bypassing the security system on the building to let himself in. He expedited the lift up to his floor, stopping outside the door to adjust his jacket before knocking quickly, adjusting his glasses nervously. He’d harboured affections similar to a crush on the Agent, a curiosity for what untoward actions with him might entail, but had never acted on them. That text had just been the opening that Q had been wishing for.

James glanced in the mirror beside the front hall closet, surprised to find himself unusually critical of his appearance.  Q was only a few years younger than he was, but there was something about the sleek intellectual that made him feel rough and slightly worn, particularly coming off of a bout of international travel.  He rubbed his cheek, checking to make sure that none of his coarse stubble remained, then smoothed his hand over his close-cropped hair.

Opening the door, he smiled quickly at the dark-haired man, “Evening, Q.  Won’t you come in?"

Q felt almost a wave of panic rush through him as the door slipped open, revealing a rather calm and stubbornly handsome Bond. He’d silently wanted the Agent for quite a while. He was distracting in so very many of the right ways, and though Q knew he could easily separate whatever relationships they would or would not build, but he had to admit that one too many nights had been spent focused on the blonde Agent. Particularly after what seemed to be their most cordial conversation in Heathrow Airport only a few weeks prior.

Nevertheless, Q had pushed out thoughts of Bond as best as he could during his absence, throwing himself into his work before relieving the Agent of his equipment (what remained of it, really) upon his return. At least the Walther was in passable condition; there hadn’t been anything left to identify the faux Kindle.

With a warmer smile than he’d ever given to the Agent before, Q stepped inside the flat, shedding his coat as he did.

“Good evening, Bond," he said quietly, turning back to watch him shut the door. “I expect that you’ve had an eventful evening."

James took his coat and casually hung it in the closet beside his own.  It was a heavy wool garment, perfectly cut and obviously recently brushed to remove lint and dust.  He sighed lightly through his nose before replying smoothly, “Your visit is the high point of my day, if you must know."

Q smiled briefly, an uptick of his lips at the implication that he’d played a bigger part in the Agent’s day than anyone else.

The blond turned back to him, smiling as he closed the closet door with his foot, “Can I get you a drink, Q?"

“I don’t actually drink too much," he admitted. “Small body mass and my liver metabolizes alcohol slowly."

He took in the furnishings of the flat; they were tasteful yet lacking in personality as if it were merely a place to sleep between missions.  Q highly suspected this was the case. It seemed the sort of place that someone had decided would fit Bond without really knowing him well.

"If you have water, or some tea, I’d be inclined to accept that," he said quietly, taking a seat on the sofa.

Bond nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to put on a kettle.  There was a strange degree of surreality to the Quartermaster of MI6 sitting on his couch, potentially wanting to sleep with him, that made him feel almost nervous.  James was never nervous, so it simply had to be something else; in any case, his movements were smooth and his gait was confident as he returned to the posh, slightly spartan living room to take a seat beside Q.

"I didn’t even ask - how was your day?"

 _And why did you accept that mis-sent invitation?_ he wondered, his keen blue eyes tracing the line of Q’s jaw up to his earlobe.  

Q shifted on the sofa, drawing up one leg to fold it against his body as the other rested off the couch, allowing him to better see Bond. His eyes swept over the strong curve of his jawline, taking in the sight of him.

“It went as well as can be expected," he murmured, “Testing out some recent fine-tuning on a few things. The new multi-channel earpieces will be ready for deployment within the next two weeks."

His eyes landed on the soft delicate curves of Bond’s lips, taking in the what appeared to be soft mouth and wondering how it might differ from his own.

“And how was your day?"

"You don’t want to hear about it," James said dismissively, shaking his blond head and laughing.  He lifted his piercing gaze back to the other man’s face, meeting his eyes.

 _This is so wrong_ , a part of his mind scolded, much the way it had before he’d lost his virginity to a French teacher at Eaton at sixteen.

He’d been quietly shuffled off to Edinburgh for that.

He ignored the misgivings, as he had then.  Instead, wanting to know if Q was serious or if this was some elaborate mockery, he lifted his hand and lightly caressed the sharp line of the Quartermaster’s jaw with the backs of his knuckles.

"Trust me, you don’t."

Q tilted his head gently as those piercing eyes looked into his own, though his were slightly obscured by the glass of his lenses. He blinked slowly at the gentle touch to his jaw, catching Bond’s hand and pressing his knuckles to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against the warmed skin.

“I find what you have to say intriguing,” he murmured quietly, looking up at him. “I’m not being facetious.”

James felt an unaccustomed bloom of warmth in his cheeks at the press of the Quartermaster’s full mouth.  It also served to still his constantly racing thoughts for just for a moment; as his internal hard drive recovered from the brief interruption in service, he scrambled to apply the meaning of the word ‘facetious’.

The Quartermaster was fascinated by him, wanted to learn him inside and out, to map a path over his flesh with his mouth, and trace every ridge of every scar until he’d memorized them like he knew the network path of his firewall around the MI6 systems.

“Tell me. How was your day.”

He smiled slowly, flicking his gaze downward for a moment as he took Q’s hand in his own.  While other man’s hands were longer and thinner than his own, they could never be considered feminine.  They were purposeful hands with heavy-boned, intellectual fingers.

He raised his companion’s hand to his mouth, returning the gesture by lightly kissing the Quartermaster’s knuckles.  He let their linked hands rest lightly on the top of Q’s slim thigh.

A shiver of pleasantness rolled through Q’s body at the gentle return of his display of affection, and he squeezed gently Bond’s hand in return, the warmth spreading along his body. His hand was thinner and longer than the Agent’s, built for the precision work that he so often did, whereas Bond’s was firmer, solid, calloused. A working man’s hand. The weight of them together rested firmly on his leg, reminding him of their precarious situation.

"It was ruddy awful, if you must know," James replied with a casual laugh, “I damn near broke my leg pursuing a man through the industrial district… cornered him and the bastard shot himself.  Almost missed my damn flight home, then had a mother with two young children, one of whom kicked my seat back for about half of the bloody flight… I’ve been awake for about 25 hours and I’m actually suffering jetlag."

It was a more honest assessment than he’d given anyone in a while, even the psychologist involved in his debriefing, and he regretted it as soon as the words passed his lips.

Q listened with intrigue at the recollection of the day’s events, having only been party to them through the earpiece which he still wore out of curiosity. There had been several instances of off-line activity, but the Quartermaster hadn’t questioned it, preferring instead to wait until they were on-line once more.

“If you would prefer, we could perhaps just sleep then? I wouldn’t want to tire you unnecessarily,” Q murmured quietly.

Bond laughed at the mention of sleep, dismissing that suggestion before it could derail what would probably prove to be a poor choice for an evening activity. He smirked, lowering his gaze to their hands before looking up and smirking with his usual, slightly distanced smile, “And then you yelled at me for destroying that tablet - which I was careful to return."

There was a bit of disappointment that flashed through Q at the sight of that normal, what he classed ‘safe’ smile, and the words instantly ate at him.

“I apologize for yelling at you about the tablet,” he continued, quietly looking down, almost ashamed. “We’ve had security breaches three times this week, and I’ve been a bit more on edge than I would care to admit. Although I’m sure my week doesn’t compare to yours.”

Gently he rubbed his thumb along the back of Bond’s hand, the soothing action almost unconscious. “If you’d like, you may ask me one question, and as an apology, I’ll answer it as truthfully as I can.”

As Q extended the offer, he knew what the question would be.

The agent looked down at Q’s hand, watching the movement of his thumb for a moment before looking back up to the Quartermaster’s surprisingly intense eyes.

The question on the tip of his tongue was What is your name?

However, while he knew that calling him Q in bed could potentially be considered impersonal, asking for his name seemed to overstep some critical boundary.  Instead, he cast about for other questions that weren’t a waste of the opportunity, but similarly wouldn’t be so intimate as to make a professional relationship difficult.

He quickly decided to ask him why he’d joined MI6.  Nodding slightly to himself, he looked back to the Quartermaster.

"What is your name?"

_Dammit._

“Quinlan Ceallach Boothroyd,” he said simply, the weight of it settling around them. It was always the question he was asked the most and the simple reply of ‘Q’ was never enough for those who had asked previously. It was protection, obviously, but just as he was sure that he could not trust the previous askers of the question, he was equally sure that he could trust Bond with the answer.

“Although I’ve long been called Q, for short.”

It felt quite like someone having the keys to the kingdom that was his life. A name was something that any person could use over another. Know their true name and you can use it against them.

The blond agent was honestly surprised that Q had given his name so readily.  Perhaps it wasn’t the secret that he’d thought it would be, or perhaps Q didn’t like being called by a code name in bed.  In any case, James nodded slowly.

Q smiled up at the agent, looking from their hands to his eyes, bright and always inquisitive as he took in the pale blue and world-weary ones of his favourite Agent.

Not that he was supposed to have favourites.

James smiled, squeezing his hand lightly as he lifted the other and laid it against the nape of the other man’s neck.  He leaned forward, pulling Quinlan closer as well.  Though they were almost nose to nose, he only looked at him steadily, his mouth curving upward again to smile.

"Fantastic coincidence that it’s also the first letter of Quartermaster then, isn’t it?"

Q shut his eyes gently behind his glasses when they were so very close,  then blinked slowly and was greeted with Bond’s smiling face in his field of vision.

“Brilliant, really,” he murmured quietly. “Though, to be honest, you’re the only one who knows. Beside M. So, keep my secret as my apology to you.

The hand against the nape of his neck was heavy, but not restricting. Rather, it was a warm and welcome touch, far more than Q had ever expected to receive from the Agent, and it made him smile as he swung there in the balance between them.

“I think you should probably kiss me now,” he whispered, flicking his eyes up from where they’d fallen to his mouth.

"You think so?" the blond provocateur asked, laughing lightly.

James tilted his chin down, bringing them nose to nose.  He knew that this was already further than it should have gone; he never should have known Q’s name.  But at the same time, the tease of the Quartermaster’s breath against his lips and the warmth of his hand in his own was too much of a temptation.

He leaned forward, closing the space between them to press a tentative, closed-mouth kiss to his companion’s mouth.

It was less than half a second, but there were lips on his own. Warm, supple, and the strength behind them, the potential. Q let his eyes fall shut at the brief encounter, sighing gently as they broke from it, and his eyes snapped open, all thoughts of not continuing on with this flying from his mind.

His body had decided that yes, this would absolutely be the course it would appreciate from the evening, but his mind had come to a screeching halt, wanting to make sure that the Agent was still on board with this.

“I rather enjoyed that,” Q murmured quietly. It had been a simple kiss, but already his body was humming with possibilities.

"And you’re not having second thoughts about it?" James asked, surprised to find that his own quiet voice had taken a slightly darker quality after just one kiss.

With his hand still against Q’s neck, they were both still close.  Bond, every bit the opportunist even when offering an easy out, leaned forward slightly, turning his head so that they were almost cheek to cheek.  He dipped his head to press his lips to the pulsepoint on the Quartermaster’s throat that fell just below his earlobe.

Q had opened his mouth to respond, but the gentle brush of lips against his neck made him give a soft noise instead of words, his free hand coming up to mirror the position of Bond’s hand on his own neck, thumb rubbing against the dip in his skin at the base of his skull.

“Not-not in the slightest,” Q murmured, stammering just for a moment at how wonderful it felt to have someone else’s hands, particularly his favourite Agent’s, on his body. It was an intimate touch; they had crossed the line from casual to decidedly intimate with just that one brush of lips on skin, and Q slid his eyes shut again, heavy with need already as his respiration increased.

James smiled at the sound, feeling the heat in his cheeks drop to his groin.  He had the feeling that the Quartermaster’s quiet, controlled voice was capable of a broad range of expression; the immediate temptation was to see what other vocal responses he could elicit from the dark-haired intellectual.

However, he was also aware that he had an incredible reputation to live up to… and when it came down to it, he was more interested in a slow burn than simply pushing the other man onto his back and ravishing him on the sofa.

"Good," the agent murmured before turning his face toward his and kissing him again.

This time, he met his companion with slightly parted lips.  The initial press was brief before he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss as he slipped his tongue into the Quartermaster’s mouth.

It was similar to igniting a fire under his skin, Q mused briefly, fingers stroking softly over the soft hair at Bond’s neck. His lips parted gently under the insistence of the warmth from the Agent’s mouth, moving against him slowly as his hand never ceased its gentle motions against his neck.

The tightness growing in his stomach, the warmth flooding through him, the fire in his veins, the way that Q exerted a touch more pressure on the back of Bond’s neck, keeping him close as he worked against his tongue, sliding over it with ease, it was all a testament to how unbelievably aroused he was.

Nothing quite came close to describing it, and Q was almost certain that his brain might leak out of his ears when they were done. Done with the kiss, or finished and sated from their encounter, he wasn’t really sure which applied.

The kiss quickly turned more heated as Bond’s hand slid forward to cradle the Quartermaster’s jaw.  He eagerly slid his tongue against Q’s, his entire focus narrowed for that moment to the man before him.

If MI6 rated proficiency in bed, James Bond would have some of the best marks in the organization.  However, despite ample experience, he retained a certain experimental charm that made it seem as though he was perhaps not as practiced, not as jaded as he actually was.  There was a liveliness and sincerity to his attentions that made it easy for his many partners to imagine themselves as, if not the first, the most important in his world.

For what it was worth, in that moment Q was the most important person in his world.

With everything that Q did, he put his heart and soul into it, and that included being a lover. He slid his tongue along the Agent’s, humming at the strong taste of him that pervaded his mouth. In that moment, the only thing on his rapidly changing mind was Bond, and it aroused him to feel like he was the centre of his whole world. Even for just a few moments.

He released the Quartermaster’s hand, resting it directly on his thigh before dragging his fingertips up to his hip, which was sharp even through his trousers.  His thoughts had rapidly turned to images, most of which involved Q’s exquisite lips slightly parted as he rasped out the agent’s name.

It was at that moment that the kettle shrilled in the kitchen.

Groaning in annoyance, Bond pulled back and breathed, “Do you still want that tea?"

The whistle of the kettle made Q dip his head in sheer annoyance, then relax against the back of the sofa.

“I can get it,” he said quietly, standing and letting his fingers trace over Bond’s arm silkily. He shed his vest and laid his tie over it on the back of a chair on his way to the kitchen, the thought of a cup of a tea guaranteeing him the caffeine that he could appreciate.

His mind traveled back to the past few minutes, even though they felt similar to hours. Kissing Bond was like writing code, something that he could lose himself in completely. His mind was reeling, the sense-memory threatening to overload his system with the enjoyable need that had settled into his groin.

James rose to his feet to follow him into the open, oversized kitchen.  He had no fear of Q finding his kitchen, or any part of his flat, disorderly, but he felt compelled as a host to assist him in preparing the tea.

He also didn’t feel like sitting on the couch in a state of mindless lust.

Brushing by the other man as he shed a few articles of clothing, James walked into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the burner.  The sharp whistle quieted to a half-hearted puffing when the agent unstoppered the spout.  He reached up into the cabinet to retrieve two mugs, both simple cream-color ceramic, and set them on the counter.

Pulling down three tins of tea, he told the Quartermaster, “Your choices are Darjeeling, Earl Grey, and Breakfast."

Q leaned against the countertop, looking almost as relaxed as he could in that moment, and quite a bit younger in just his dress shirt and trousers. He shook his head at the choices with a slight smirk playing against his lips.

“I think you already know the answer, but Earl Grey, please,” he murmured quietly, hand curling around the mug before accepting the infuser loaded with leaves. He felt as if he perpetually smelled of bergamot, as though the distinctive smell of it saturated his skin as often as he drank it.

"I’d guessed," Bond mused as he set a silver-toned infuser of Darjeeling into his own mug before pouring a the hot water to just shy of the rim.  He glanced over at the other man, surprised by how at ease he seemed and how naturally the Quartermaster moved through his flat; it was almost as though they had done this many times before and he himself had simply forgotten.

Q normally drank his tea with two spoonfuls of sugar, but on occasion he enjoyed honey in it instead with just a twist of lemon. He moved about the rather large kitchen with ease, opening one of the cabinets to find a container of honey.

“Can I get you milk or sugar?” he asked quietly, playing host even though it wasn’t his home. With honey added to his own tea, he replaced the container and stirred, removing the container of leaves to inhale the rich scent of it, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was a nicer brand than he normally picked up and the difference showed.

“This is lovely,” he murmured, inhaling once more before drinking a portion of it.

Pausing for a moment to simply watch as the other man prepared his tea, Bond leaned lightly against the opposite counter.  Q seemed younger without the weight of his facade, and Bond wondered for the first time just how old he actually was.  No one, regardless of brilliance, made it to a supervisory role before thirty.  It made made Bond feel slightly more at ease to know that he wasn’t duping some starry-eyed youth into his bed.

Not that it often mattered, but this was an unusual circumstance.  This was a man who he would be seeing again, after all, any time he came in to MI6 headquarters.  This was a man who could, if he wanted, make his life considerably more frustrating.

He didn’t expect it to be the case, but he did feel lingering doubt as to the intelligence of a one-night stand with a valued colleague.

Leaving his own mug on the counter, he crossed the tile floor to slip his arms around Q’s waist lightly.

The gentle click of dress shoes across tile made Q smile as he drank from his mug, leaning back into the strong arms around his waist. This was Q with his defenses down, as much as he allowed them to be stripped away. Q as Quinlan, not the Quartermaster, Q, the section chief of Q Branch. This was who he allowed himself to be when he was alone.

Somehow, he felt as though it was probably not the best idea to let down his defenses entirely, but Q felt safe around Bond.

"And no, I like my tea simple," James said as he pressed a kiss to the back of his neck just above the collar.

"Honey is simple," he mused quietly, relaxing into the gentle kiss against his neck, a soft ‘oh’ escaping him.

The mug moved from his hands to the counter once more and Q turned in the gentle grasp around his waist, one warmed hand finding its way around the Agent’s nape again to pull him into a kiss, gentle at first, but steadily growing with heat as he slid his tongue along Bond’s.

James pulled him closer as he kissed him back.  The taste of bergamot was now inextricably linked to Q, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to smell Earl Grey without immediately recalling the sensation of the Quartermaster in his arms.  It seemed uncharacteristically romantic to associate the sweetness of honey with a lover’s kisses, but already amber liquid had rewritten its associations.

He edged him back, pinning the intellectual between his body and the edge of the countertop.  As he eagerly kissed him, his open hands splayed against his back, he slipped his leg between the other man’s knees and eased forward slightly to bring the top of his thigh in rather intimate contact.

Q tipped his face up into the kiss, thumb rubbing gently against the divot in the Agent’s skin, delighting in the taste of him. Cigarettes, a darker scotch and the underlying warmth of what he could only assume that his skin tasted of. It was like a spice to be savoured, and Q had every intentions of doing just that.

"I want to simply be myself," he murmured against his mouth, “here with you. I don’t want to be the Quartermaster. I just want to be me."

While Q was who he always was, the Quartermaster was not entirely Quinlan, but yet they existed more like two symbiotic beings. The fleeting responsibilities of being Quartermaster did not exist here, zero sum game.

He braced his back against the counter, nudging his feet just a touch wider to allow for a stronger contact of thigh against his groin. He hummed gently into the kiss, the hand not gently rubbing the nape of Bond’s neck finding a hold over the swell of his arse, fingers sliding over the soft wool of his trousers.

If James was surprised by how forward Q was, he didn’t show it; he didn’t start at the extremely confident hand at his backside.  Rather he pressed forward, easing against him.

The weight of hips against his own, just a touch higher, made Q groan into the kiss, the hand that had been resting gently over well-defined musculature was blatantly groping now. He had long suspected Bond of being a voracious lover and part of him was thrilled at the possibilities of an enjoyable evening with the possibility for future encounters.

Leaning his brow against Q’s, feeling the thickness of his glasses where they rested between them, James bumped his nose against the other man’s lightly.  It was a surprisingly affectionate gesture, not the sort of thing that most would likely expect from the 00-agent.

"Whatever you want, love."

The affectionate gesture made him smile, turning just a touch to brush the softness of his cheek against Bond’s. A hand removed his glasses and set them on the counter beside them, heart thundering at the affectionate term as he dragged his mouth against his favourite Agent’s.

"James," he murmured softly, “the tea is getting cold."

"And that’s important to you?" he queried, ducking in to steal another kiss.

This short kiss was followed by a longer, more demanding one that terminated in a light nip at Q’s lower lip.  Pulling back a little further to allow his companion to catch his breath, his fingers strayed back to the Quartermaster’s front, then began playfully picking open the top buttons of his shirt.

Blue-green eyes fell to see the Agent picking at his buttons and Q’s hand found his mug of tea again, drinking it quickly before setting it aside again.

While the Quartermaster downed his tea, Bond pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses and light bites to his throat.  He was a skilled, headstrong distraction and he wasn’t going to be ignored even for that moment.

"I stayed up last night coding a section of the new firewall. The caffeine will keep me awake for another few hours," Q murmured, fingers sliding along the soft linen of Bond’s dress shirt, deliberately circling every single button down to the line of his trousers.

The light dexterity of Q’s hands had his attention.  As he undid the buttons of his shirt, his fingers slipped past the fine fabric and ghosted over the other man’s collarbones.  

"Hours, mm?" he breathed, his voice wry with amusement, “I’m delighted by your optimism."

The unspoken I’ll wear you out long before then that lingered on the air after he spoke was further emphasized by Bond’s lips on his breastbone.

Q let his eyes fall closed at the gentleness of warm calloused hands against his skin, his own hands working their way back up the Agent’s shirt to start to unbutton his shirt as well, momentarily distracted by soft lips against his chest.

“Always be optimistic, my dear James,” he murmured quietly, eyes focused on the skin in front of him.

He rubbed his thumbs over every stretch of skin he could get his fingertips on, committing them to his memory, just in case this ended up being a one-off. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be, and if so, Q would chalk it up to getting his attraction to Bond out of his system.

The unspoken words made Q shiver as he felt their weight settling on him, and his hands carded gently through the Agent’s short hair, resting his cheek on the top of his head in far more of an intimate and romantic gesture than he’d intended it to be.

Bond was slightly surprised at how his stony-faced Quartermaster had vanished, leaving a sensual, affectionate Q in his place. Even in his mind, calling him by his given name seemed too intimate somehow. As his fingers explored the clothed planes of the other man’s body, sliding over the surprisingly firm muscles of his chests and sides, over the rise of his backside and finally the backs of his thighs, his mind was fitting all of this together into the image of the man he had known up until this point.

Some of his previous suppositions had to be discarded entirely.

Feeling the wanton press of Q’s hips against his own, he caught Q’s chin in his hand and tilted his face up so that they were on level. He dipped his head forward slightly as though he would kiss him, then forced himself not to muddy his question with his obvious lust.

"Last time I’ll ask before I take you to my bed… will you be able to work with me after this?"

Q had anticipated a kiss, but not the question. The blue-green of his eyes was bright with anticipation of things to come, not at all diminished by the thought that there was doubt.

“You’re thinking that I may change the way I act towards you because of one evening of recreational enjoyment,” he murmured quietly, not yet moving away from his position, eyes unblinkingly trained on Bond’s. “That if things don’t work between us tonight that I’ll be hurt by it. That if things go well, I’ll want to see you again. And while the latter shows a 86 per-cent possibility, none of this will change our working relationship. Here, I can be myself towards you. Admit that I have wondered what it would be like to have an evening with you. But, out there, I am still Q, Quartermaster, department head of Q Branch. Here, I am simply Quinlan.”

Q drew himself up the inch between them and pressed firmly to the Agent’s mouth, sliding his tongue along his bottom lip.

“Take me to bed, my dear James,” he murmured.

The blond had been looking for a simple yes or no, but the extended response firmly cemented that Quinlan, Q, and the stoic Quartermaster were all in fact the same person. He laughed quietly as he returned the kiss, then stole another before stepping back.

He took Quinlan’s hand casually and said, “Well, that settles it. Statistically."

Q retrieved his glasses and settled them back onto his face, blinking as things came into focus even further than two foot from his face. He let a small smile cross his face at the tender laugh, smiling further into the kisses. He felt as if his face would begin to develop lines from the amount of time he spent smiling around James.

The blond led his guest through the large flat to a bedroom that matched in style - modern, sleek, and slightly spartan. Highly impersonal, lacking photographs or items of sentimental or personal aesthetic value. The lack of dust and the sharp, square corners of the duvet, which went beyond military precision to professional, bespoke an occasional housekeeper. The bed, which was large and central, had not been slept in since before Bond had gone to Korea.

Fingers twined between Bond’s, and Q’s eyes took in every bit of the flat, noting how impersonal everything was. It was a far cry from his own cluttered flat, similar in size due to MI6’s appointment for him, but his books and tech littered the flat. He could only imagine the look on his favourite Agent’s face if he ever came for a visit.

Midway into the room, James indulged his desire to kiss the Quartermaster again. His strong hand rested against the small of Quinlan’s back, holding him close as he kissed him until the dark-haired tech had to pull away to breathe.

The Quartermaster fell into the kiss with a renewed passion, one arm hooked easily over James’ neck, holding him well within kissing range to indulge once more, breaking from it only when he needed to breathe, panting heavily with his forehead resting against Bond’s shoulder.

“I feel that I should warn you that it’s been a few months since my last encounter,” he murmured, catching his breath while his hands untucked his shirt from his trousers, dropping in on the floor to expose the rest of his chest and his pale back.

"A few months?" James repeated as though scandalized. He chuckled in his quiet, slightly closed way as he used the short break in contact to undo his own cuffs and loosen his tie.

Wrapping his lean-muscled arms around Q’s waist, he crushed him close again. He had always envisioned the Quartermaster as having a softer build, but found that he liked what he’d been privileged to touch thus far. He turned his head to avoid catching a kiss on the mouth, instead smoothly pressing his mouth to the long, smooth muscle that ran from his neck to shoulder. The firm pressure of his teeth was behind the kisses, which were punctuated with an occasional nip. It was all too light to leave marks, but it was obvious that James might have left claiming bruises under different conditions.

"That’s a lot of time to make up for," he replied charmingly, lifting his head to kiss Quinlan chastely on the mouth. His less virtuous hands moved around to rest on his hips. One thumb hooked in Q’s belt loop as the other brushed across the taut front of the tech’s trousers. He dragged his fingertips down the front closure without undoing it.

"That could take _hours_."

Q shivered visibly as both James’ hands and words caressed his body, eyes visibly growing darker with just the idea of taking hours to enjoy himself.

“I think that would be lovely,” he murmured quietly, fingers delicately taking apart the knot of his companion’s tie and letting it hang around the open neck of his shirt before making short work of the buttons until he could slide the soft fabric away.

Only an inch separated them in height, and it made it terribly easy for Q to dip his head down to mouth against the prominent ridges of James’ collar bones, teeth following his lips, kissing away every little nip he left behind. One arm wound itself around the trim waist of the Agent, encouraging more blatant contact as he hummed against the soft taste of the skin against his lips, tasting of the same cigarettes, scotch, and blood-warmth that his mouth had.

James breathing quickened at the other man’s attentions. His life often involved a great deal of physical pain, so he took pleasure when offered and rarely failed to vocalize his appreciation. He tugged him slightly closer by his belt loops and palmed Q’s arousal through his smart trousers.

The heat of Quinlan’s mouth and the practiced movements of his tongue made the agent feel heady with desire and unbalanced on his feet. He made a quiet sound of approval before lightly pushing the other man back just a bit.

Q stepped back a half-step, the agent’s expression making him shiver with anticipation. The weight of that gaze was so intense; it was like being under a microscope, as if he held the secrets of the infinite universe, and James looking at him for the answers to his questions.

He met Q’s eyes with a playfully predatory look as he finally unfastened Q’s trousers. He tugged them downward, taking his unders with them, to expose the prominent wings of the Quartermaster’s pelvic bones. He nodded toward the bed and said, “You’re going to want to sit down…"

Another shiver passed through Q’s thin body as his soft wool trousers were pulled down his thighs, tottering gently backwards to drop onto the pristine bed. It gave the Quartermaster a sensation bordering on smugness to ruin those perfectly folded edges of the bed.

With an ease of motion, he bent just a touch to remove his shoes and socks before shimmying out of his trousers and pants and sending them to join his shirt on the floor. A dark look filled his eyes as he raked them over the Agent, a thrill screaming through him like a rush of adrenaline.

James liked the dynamic of clothed versus nude, and despite his obvious desire he wanted to make an evening of the the long-legged Quartermaster. As he toed off his long dress shoes, he watched the younger man disrobe without bothering to hide his appreciation for his slim, elegant body and extremely arousing confidence.

The blond walked around to the bedside table and pulled out a small assortment of necessaries - a small, recognizable bottle and two thin foil packages. He tossed them casually on the coverlet, retaining one of the condoms and tearing it open with a briskness that betrayed his considerable experience.

He stood before his seated lover, fierce in only his slim-cut trousers, then bent at the waist to kiss him on the mouth. It was lingering, but not deep, the promise of a tease and a slow build. His hand, his fingertips very slightly oiled from the lubrication of the condom packaging, moved to experimentally caress his bared length. When he pulled back, he met Quinlan’s intense, questioning blue-green-brown eyes before kneeling down before him.

He leaned down and pressed several open-mouthed kisses to Q’s hips and the sensitive line where his hip met his thigh, his cheek brushing lightly against the other man’s arousal. As he did, his fingers expertly rolled the length of the condom over his cock.

Bond’s reputation as a womanizer was not unfounded, but it wasn’t as though he was reckless; he engaged in the safest practices possible. And like all MI6 agents, he was given a thorough medical screening on the conclusion of each debriefing that involved testing nearly every substance in his body. While the usual tests had been performed, he had not yet received their results and didn’t want to risk exposing his lover to his indiscretions in Asia.

He raised his eyes to Q’s again, wrapping his strong, calloused hand around him again and giving him a few experimental strokes.

Q could appreciate the thoroughness of preparation, the knowledge that while the probability of one of them being infected with anything was rather low, the precautions were second-hand for his favourite Agent, and it put him at ease. His own position required only twice a year testing, and Q was not the type of person to risk a negative turning to a positive during any sort of haste.

Though, it seemed unlikely that haste would be an issue between them. After all, it could take hours. And the Quartermaster was perfectly happy to accept that fact.

The length of latex curving around his arousal did nothing to stifle his need, the sight of James’ strong fingers playing his body like a taut wire making his head dip forward to rest his chin on his chest, dark eyes boring into lighter blue. Q’s hips twitched at the tentative strokes along his cock, indicative of how much need there was coiled in his thin, wiry body.

“Loosely, but fast,” he murmured quietly, hands splayed across his thighs. He wanted badly to reach out and run his fingers over the plains of Bond’s arms and chest, to trace across his cheeks and nose, commit every inch of him to his memory, save it to his read-only to never delete, never forget, but instead they curled around his thighs, indulging for a moment in the feel of a strong palm and talented fingers curling around him, eyes threatening to flutter shut with the sensations.

The nagging feeling of poor decision making had actually turned to somewhat of an aphrodisiac; Q’s wanton compliance made James feel as though he was getting away with something, which was always a delightful sensation. He laughed softly.

He leaned up to kiss Q’s jaw, then cheek, and finally he mouth. His long hand moved smoothly on his cock, his fingers exploring its sleek outline with special attention to sensitivity. He listened to the quality of his breathing and minded the tension of his body. As he deepened the kiss, his teasing fingers looped back up the underside of his length to trace the vein that ran from base to tip. Wrapping his hand firmly, his tongue languid but insistent against the Quartermaster’s, James pressed his thumb lightly into the divot below the head.

He shifted forward slightly, pressing Q’s thighs apart so that he could kneel between his knees. His unoccupied hand traced a ticklish line up the inside of his thigh starting at his knee.

Q’s breathing quickly turned ragged. The combination of the hand that curled around him to explore his sensitive flesh, the hard pressed kiss, and the slow slide of tongues made him want. He made a small noise of need as he parted his thighs further, letting the warmth that was James fill the space between them as his mouth moved against the insistence of his companion’s.

His hands left his thighs of their own accord, skating across the bare skin of the Agent’s shoulders and chest. Sight wasn’t necessary as he trailed his fingers over every dip and rise of the muscles, every scar and mark, committing the topography of his skin to the mental map he was generating of James. His mouth desperately wanted to follow, but there would be chances later for that.

_Later._

Q trailed his fingers sensually over every inch of skin that there was to reach, almost caressing the warmed skin of the Agent, surely to never forget how he felt in his arms. Just in case this was a one-off.

James disliked passive lovers, so he could appreciate Q’s roving hands on both the merits of the sensation they provided and the assurance that Quinlan wasn’t going to just lie back and think of England. The caresses, which varied from the lightest brushes of his fingers to firmer strokes of his long hands, made the agent’s pulse quicken and his trousers seem uncomfortably constricting.

He pulled back from kissing the Quartermaster, his own amused eyes meeting Q’s for a moment. He murmured, his voice husky but as smug and self-assured as always, “I hope you don’t mind if I just take what I want?"

James hadn’t slept with nearly the same number of men as women, but it didn’t mean that he was unskilled in pleasuring a male partner. Similarly, he was not shy about it; he had nothing to prove in terms of his own masculinity and cared little for which acts might be considered “submissive" or “dominant." As far as he was concerned, a man wasn’t a good lover unless his partner came hard. And often, if possible.

Q quirked a grin at the question, loving the rich heady tone of James’ voice.

“As long as you don’t mind it in return," he murmured thickly, fingers trailing over his neck. There was something completely refreshing about having a bed partner who wasn’t afraid to have and take what they wanted.

Too often he found himself with companions who either wanted to be told what to do or tried to force him to obey their commands. When it came to physical needs, Q didn’t mind much who he fell into bed with as long as they weren’t vapid and didn’t object to protection. After that, be the person man, woman, both or neither, Q would make sure they both had an enjoyable time.

The blond leaned forward and kissed the insides of Q’s thighs lightly, letting his warm breath tease his sensitive skin as he appreciatively made his way upward. He flicked his tongue experimentally against the head of his arousal, his fist sliding slowly down to the base and back. He smiled to himself, then took the tip into his mouth, applying upward pressure with his tongue to lightly press his cock against his teeth.

A low guttural groan rocked Q’s chest at the gentle ministrations of lips against his thighs and his hands found a home against the back of James’ head, thumb brushing the soft short strands as he moved closer and his breathing coming in sharp pants. He found himself aroused beyond belief at the near-tender appreciation of his thin form, eyes full of dark lust as he dropped them to meet the sight of his arousal disappearing into that sharp-tongued mouth. Q’s unoccupied hand clenched into the bedsheets as he tried to remember how to breathe, the hot wet heat just around the tip of his cock already driving his lust higher and higher.

James chuckled lowly, though it was little more than a low, vibrating rumble and a taut slide of his lips about his cock as he smiled. He appreciated that the Quartermaster wasn’t trying to dampen his reactions. The tightening of Quinlan’s thigh under his hand and the sudden catch in his breath only enticed Bond to consider what sounds he’d be able to wring from his colleague that night.

He eased downward slowly, working the head of Q’s cock with his tongue as he gradually took him deeper. Quick prods to sensitive spots, a quick loop of the rim with the tip of his tongue, and then firm pressure against the shaft until he had taken him in as far as he could without gagging. Confident that he had determined what movements elicited the strongest reactions from the other man, he pulled back, lightly dragging his teeth, before taking him deeply again.

Q could feel more than anything the slow curl of lips around his cock, and the tightness in his groin only grew, the hot curl of need increasing with intensity. Long talented digits dragged themselves through short blonde strands as the attentions to his pleasure intensified.

His hips gave small motions forward as Q’s hand tangled in the bedclothes gripped tighter, intent on making this experience and the absolute pleasure that was rocking through his body last as long as it could.

“Exquisite,” he murmured quietly, the word almost strangled from his throat as his entire body focused down to the hot wet heat surrounding him even through the thin latex.

James made a quiet sound to acknowledge Q’s compliment, though he felt a bubble of laughter in his chest.  Using a word like “exquisite" when a simple “good" (or even a more colloquial “fuck, Bond") would suffice was so very Q.  It was oddly grounding when almost all of the preconceptions that he’d held about the Quartermaster’s sexual demeanor had been completely off-base.

It was something like an intense out-of-body experience, the realization that he, Q, the Quartermaster of MI6, had his cock buried down his favourite Agent’s throat, something that he’d wanted but had never quite been able to imagine. The sensations that were being recorded in his read-only memory were rewriting what he’d imagined, committing it there, the softness of James’ throat, the sounds, fevered bodies locked in a primal and base dance of pleasure.

Bond had never thought that sounds like that could come from that hard, sarcastic mouth.  Sensual, half-voiced, unpretentious.  Open, vulnerable but not weak.

He quickened his pace, keeping his lips taut around his cock.  He skillfully used his tongue and teeth, catching all of Q’s most tender points on each pass until he pulled back to focus on the head.  As he lapped at the tip of his cock with the full width of his tongue, he found himself half-wishing that the barrier wasn’t necessary so that he could taste his skin.

His raised his vivid blue eyes to Q’s face, completely unselfconscious.  He held Q’s gaze for a moment, then let his own stray to trace the lines of his slightly parted lips and the slight downward draw of his eyebrows.  He had surprisingly long eyelashes, which James had never really noticed.  He gave him a quick smile that made him look younger for a moment as wrapped his hand around Quinlan again.

He reached past him for the small bottle on the bed and flipped the cap open with one hand as he took his cock into his mouth again.

The temptation to tip his head back was there as a constant threat, but Q forced himself to keep his eyes open and focused as he struggled to keep himself away from the edge. James was making it terribly difficult at the moment between the expert tongue playing his tension along a wire and giving him that half grin that made him look years younger, not nearly so weathered as he so often seemed. Not that there was that much of a difference between their ages.

Six years had never been an issue before.

Q’s hand moved through blonde strands gently before tugging just gently enough to earn a questioning look from his companion. He merely smiled and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, thighs splayed openly in invitation.

“I didn’t want to assume you’d be amenable to me fucking your face by moving,” he murmured quietly, the expletive sharp in the gentle tone.

A slow grin passed over the Quartermaster’s face, eyes heavy with lust and want as the hand that curled around the back of Bond’s head slid to drag his fingers along his neck and up to his chin, tipping him forward as Q leaned down, kissing him thoroughly, tongue sliding with a slow moving tempo, just exploring as he enjoyed the varied sensations. He pressed with deliberate force to nip the bottom of his lip, taking it in between his teeth to gently worry it before releasing it and James, settling back up on the bed, reclining with one hand stretched behind him, the other tracing down his neck before reclining behind him as well to look down the length of his body towards his favourite Agent. He would have his chance later to see him with mussed hair and swollen lips.

James made the rapid assessment that Q could probably make him come with his voice alone, given the right words. He licked his slightly roughened lips as he looked up the long expanse of bare skin that was being offered to him. He laughed a little, though the sound seemed quiet in the oversized room, “That’s a phrase I never imagined coming out of your mouth."

A slow smirk worked its way across Q’s lips at the gentle laugh, arching a brow with a small laugh of his own. “I think you’d be surprised at what might come out of my mouth, my dear James,” he murmured lightly, the smirk turning into an easy grin. A shoulder shifted, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he peered down at the blonde Agent.

He pressed his first two fingers up against him, knowing that the lubrication would be cool against his warm body. He watched Quinlan’s face as he gentled his broad fingers into him. He wanted to make sure that he didn’t hurt him, but he also selfishly wanted to memorize the Quartermaster’s features in that moment.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Q bit his bottom lip at the slow push of fingers against the cleft of his body, eyes fluttering momentarily shut as his mouth began to fall open, a soft groan of pleasure rocking his chest. Six months since he’d had contact with anyone, but it had been closer to eight since he’d had anyone in him. That instance, broad sure fingers spreading him with movements that spoke of experience, they rewrote his previous experiences, far surpassed his own thin fingers. His hips shifted gently from side to side, the whole of his lust demanding more.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” he murmured, voice already dark and heavy. “I won’t break.”

James laughed again, then pressed a kiss to Q’s hips. He could feel the tension in his body and could tell that he was carefully keeping himself from straining forward. His muscles were tight around the Agent’s fingers, giving him doubts as to his own patience; he wanted to just take his place between the Quartermaster’s slim thighs and have him without even allowing him a moment to adjust.

But the more calculating side, the side that planned strategy, wanted to keep Q unsatisfied and riding the edge until he begged Bond to let him finish. He wanted his Quartermaster to remember that moment every time he made a snotty little comment in Q Branch about intelligence or broken equipment.

"What makes you think I’m going to give you what you want already?"

He smiled as he drew his fingers back and pressed forward again experimentally several times, noting that the other man’s muscles scarcely eased. He quickened the movement slightly, pressing in to the knuckle and twisting as he withdrew.

James laid a stinging bite against the thick muscle that ran between his thigh and groin. He rubbed the tip of his tongue against the warm, rising welt before commenting, “And if I’m gentle with you now, I won’t have to be later."

Q gave a quirk of his lips at the question, opening his mouth to answer, but the words were quickly lost by the movements of Bond’s fingers, a choked off groan taking their place. With almost petulance he snapped his jaw shut, quirking a brow at the Agent in defiance. The unspoken ‘I dare you to do that again’ hanging blatantly in the air.

Blue-green eyes flitted shut momentarily at the sting of teeth latching into the soft muscle of his thigh, laved quickly away by the hot wet tongue that had tortured him thusly already.

“Mm,” Q hummed quietly, “I suppose if you’d like to do it that way.” His voice was remarkably in control, quavering just a touch between registers. “And while I cannot deny that I’m enjoying your slow attentions, as it gives me time to watch you learn me, I can’t help but remark that if our positions were reversed, you’d be stripped and on this bed, and I’d be riding you by now.”

While impatience had never been Q’s style, the thought of seeing the blonde lost to pleasures of the flesh, caused by his own doings, it made the need in him grow tremendously.

The words, coupled with how Q’s muscles clenched around his fingers as he repeatedly pressed into him, were almost enough to unseat Bond’s resolve. Quick, aroused color came to his cheeks and warmed his throat and upper chest, even as he tried to laugh it off.

The laugh came out more like a growl. He applied his unoccupied hand to the centre of the younger man’s chest, pushing him back flat onto his back. He moved forward and upward onto the bed, covering Q’s bare body with his own and seating his hips against his as he drove his fingers into him deeply again.

Separated only by his trousers, James ground his erection against Quinlan’s. The pressure served to tease rather than satisfy, but it didn’t stop the agent from pistoning his hips forward as he carefully added a third finger to Q’s tight body to spread him further.

He moaned quietly against Q’s jaw, denying him a kiss for a moment as he breathed, “Not on the first date."

Q moaned wantonly at the strength of the motion Bond’s hips were giving against his own as he continued to stretch and prepare him.

“Shame,” he murmured before leaning up for a thorough kiss, leaving himself breathless with the fervor of it. “Perhaps a second date will be necessary then.”

His hips arched, pressing them back down onto his fingers before starting to roll them in earnest, caught between brushing his angular hips up against James’ arousal and woolen trousers and down onto the fingers spreading him wide open.

“Perhaps I should tell you more of what I’d do then, since you seem to enjoy it,” he murmured lowly, kissing a line from his mouth up his jawline, biting gently at it until he reached his Agent’s ear, aided by an arm slung over his shoulders, tugging him closer. “I’d force you down onto the bed, and take my time undressing you, run my lips and my tongue along every inch of your body until I’d completed my mental topographical map of you,” he whispered, the register of his voice dipping until the tone was practically dripping with lust. “And then use that memory and map to enjoy myself when you’re not around.”

As Q spoke, Bond’s active, analytical mind supplemented his words with images. He made a quiet sound of arousal before he breathed, momentarily unable to form more than single-word statements, “Fuck."

James was rarely in a receiving position, though it wasn’t because of personal disinclination; it was simply too vulnerable position for the 00-agent under most circumstances. He had few male partners with whom he shared that degree of trust. He was surprised to realize how easily he could picture himself yielding to the younger man’s attentions, and even more surprised to realize that he wasn’t adverse to the thought.

The fact that he trusted Quinlan to that extent prickled slightly and sent a flare of adrenaline through his stomach and thighs.

James kissed him hard, forcing Q’s head back against the coverlet. His tongue skillfully parried with Quinlan’s as he pushed his fingers into him quickly. The kiss was ravaging and demanding, both communicating the agent’s overwhelming lust for him and asserting some small modicum of dominance as he effectively prevented the Quartermaster from unleashing his skilled tongue on him verbally.

God, the thought of Q sprawled out at home with his fist about his cock as he imagined him.

Q groaned unabashedly as he was pressed back into the bed hard, his arm around James’ shoulders still, keeping him infinitely close. The force and power behind the movements of their tongues together made his hips rock again, remembering that strong touch of tongue through thin latex as he made another noise of want.

Bond pulled back suddenly, lifting himself off of the slimmer man and climbing to his feet at the foot of the bed. Straightening, his hand slid to the tented front of his own trousers. He undid his belt, then unfastened the closure of his cleanly cut slacks. Without a great deal of showmanship, he hooked his thumbs in the waist and slid them down along with his unders, then stepped out of the pile of discarded clothing.

Despite that he was very nearly forty, the lines of his body were strong. He was perhaps on the slim side as far as agents went, he was built for agility rather than strength. His face was sharp, lightly lined around his mouth and eyes from a high impact life, but standing before Q, completely nude and presented for his analysis, James was completely unselfconscious.

As much as the Agent was unselfconscious about baring his body, Q was unashamed about letting his eyes roam, taking in every inch of him as he climbed to his knees, finger deftly snagging the square package and tearing it with his teeth to pull out the rolled bit of latex. Unrolling just a touch from the top and with a smirk, he popped the condom into his mouth as he slid from the bed, dragging his hands over the Agent’s chest and hips as he knelt, sliding the condom onto his impressive length with his mouth, pulling off with the smirk still in place.

A gentle kiss was all he laid against James’ cock, just on the underside of the head of it before returning to the bed, smirk carrying him all the way and pulled a pillow to rest his head on.

“Come fuck me now,” he murmured quietly, lazily rolling his head to rest on his shoulder, the perfect picture of want and need and lust combined in his lithe form.

James groaned quietly at the brief heat of his mouth, his eyes closing, only the adrenaline rush of a moment before keeping him from sagging slightly at the knee. His hand reflexively moved to the Quartermaster’s hair. Recovering himself, he laughed, flicking his gaze down to again appreciate the view of Q’s body with his thighs spread. Without thinking, he said, “Next time, I will tease you until you beg for it…"

As he settled onto the bed beside him, he realized that he had effectively committed himself to a second forbidden rendezvous. The agent leaned down to kiss Q’s smug mouth, then murmured against his lips, “No, no… This is certainly a one-night stand…"

His half-hearted delivery served the opposite purpose; it was obvious to both that this would happen again and it was simply a matter of when. James cursed himself thoroughly in his head, reminding himself again just how wrong this was.

The heat and fire in James’ words spread through Q’s body effectively, had him moaning lightly into the kiss, intent on reassuring them both that their reckless affair wouldn’t be a one night thing.

They both knew it.

“I intend for you to learn exactly what ‘turnabout is fair play’ means next time, my dear James,” he murmured.

Bond had always known that Q was willful, and he could have guessed that he had a bit of a dominant streak.  However, he had never imagined that he was the sort to take control in bed or make erotic promises, particularly ones that were more like delightful threats.

Brushing that aside, James flicked through a number of ways that he could take the surprisingly sensual intellectual. A number of positions, all appealing, were considered and discarded as he realized that he wanted to see his face the moment he pressed into him.

It also wasn’t as though they were so inexperienced as to be unable to change mid-way.

He took his place between Quinlan’s thighs, snugged up against him but at not quite the right angle to penetrate him.

Q folded his legs on either side of James’ thighs, and brought himself up off the bed, kneeling over his thighs and arousal, his own thighs spread wide. “You’re thinking how you’d like to watch my face as I take you into me, aren’t you?” he murmured, folding one arm around his shoulder, the other tipping up his face for a surprisingly intimate kiss. “I want you to see me,” he whispered, “see my face so that you never forget this moment.”

His hand wound down between them to grip the base of the Agent’s cock, pressing it to the well-stretched entrance to his body, head already tipped forward, eyes burning as he sank down, never leaving James’ eyes.

"Ah…" he breathed, his lips parted just slightly and his eyes trained on Q’s face as the Quartermaster let his weight slowly force him down on his prick.  The younger man’s expression was exactly what he wanted, without even having known it; his stare had a smoldering intensity, a sharp focus that gave James no choice but commit the moment to memory.  He had a strange feeling of the depth of Quinlan’s eyes burning itself into him as his own gaze dropped to trace the lines of his slightly parted lips before looping back upward.

He wondered if Q thought that he could claim him.

James lifted his hands to rest on the other man’s hips as he pushed upward toward him, easing into him that final inch and pulling him flush against his pelvis.  He could feel his own hip bones pressing into the backs of the Quartermaster’s thighs and found himself hoping to leave marks.  The tight heat of his body was overwhelming, and he found himself almost wishing that the thin barrier between them wasn’t necessary.

Q’s mouth parted in a gentle ‘oh’ as he slipped down the rest of the way, the angular bones under the soft flesh of his arse resting against James’ thighs. His eyes slipped shut momentarily, then reopened sharply behind the lenses of his glasses.

Holding Q against him firmly, Bond rocked his hips slowly, his movements deep but experimental.

The deep thrust made him curl forward, resting his forehead against James’ shoulder, a gasp on his lips from the pressure and combined stimulation, arching his own hips backwards.

“Just there,” he murmured quietly, the soft tones of his voice strained already, brought close to the edge but never falling over it. The subtle slow motions were seemingly perfect as his body started to come apart, lips sliding openly over his Agent’s shoulder and collarbone, mouthing at every inch of skin and mark of scar.

Q balanced his weight better, wrapping his arms around Bond’s shoulders, lifting up with his thighs and sliding back down in one seamless movement, angling his hips forward to aid the strength of the slide. His eyes were burning, the intensity of his gaze meeting those ice blue eyes on the same level as that when he was analyzing new code, taking it apart and memorizing every line of it, every fleck and speckle in his eyes.

Touching Q, feeling his muscles clench and seeing his lips parted as he gasped in pleasure, had been as much a tease for James as his partner. His skin felt hot and over sensitized; each thrust upward into the Quartermaster’s welcoming body tightened the pleasurable heat coiled at the base of his spine.

He was tempted to curl his hand around Q’s cock and pull a staccato rhythm in opposition to his long, deep thrusts. But he was enjoying the other man’s warm mouth on his neck and shoulder, as well as the soft subtleties of his voice as his body jerked slightly when James hit the right angle; he wanted to watch the slow undoing of the Quartermaster, and he wanted to see the change in his expression with each new sensation. He liked seeing Quinlan of the edge.

James quickened his thrusts, rolling his hips upward into the movements. His breathing quickened as well, roughening as his now-audible breaths became interspersed with quiet, appreciative moans.

He released Q’s hips, letting the slim genius dictate their pace for a moment and savoring the slight loss of control. He continued to rock his hips upward into the movements, though he slipped his arms around Quinlan’s ribs to hold him down against his chest. The position trapped the other man’s cock between their bodies and applied a firm pressure on each downward push of his hips.

Q sought out James’ mouth, sliding over it with soft kisses, content to do nothing more than share air between them, gasps from his mouth transferring over the slim space between them. His hips worked slowly at the release of them, drawing himself up to the top of his length, keeping just the swollen crown of his cock inside his body before sliding down achingly slow, feeling the burn in his thighs.

At the loss of control, Q leaned more fully against his companion, hair and sweat plastered to his forehead, making his glasses fog with the intensity, but it did nothing to stop the hot curl of need from unfurling in his slim body, the slight lubrication of the condom making his arousal slide easier between their bodies, the contact dragging short panting moans from his lips. One hand moved quickly, pressing the palm of his hand against his glasses, blinking quickly behind them.

“James,” he panted out, the soft controlled tones of his voice completely ripped away. “Come- I’m going to come.” The rich sounds of his voice were broken with sharp gasps, soft noises of pleasure and almost-mewls of moans. He worked his hips despite the hold that his Agent had around his ribs, face tipped forward to place a series of kisses against salty skin, sliding his open mouth along his shoulder, teeth applied in an entirely personable way, grazing them over the prominent bone of his clavicle.

James wondered if Q had any idea of the power of his voice, or if it was a weapon whose efficacy he didn’t even consider. He moaned quietly, the end of the sound almost throaty enough to be mistaken for a growl. He kissed Q quickly on the mouth, then grinned breathlessly at him as he held him firmly and rolled their bodies to take the dominant position atop him.

His hand moved to the Quartermaster’s thigh as he used his open palm and the weight of his body to push Q’s legs wide apart, forcing his muscles taut. He reached between their bodies, finally gripping his lover’s neglected length and stroking him with a firm, practiced grip similar to how he might handle himself.

He laughed breathlessly, “Just look at me, I want to see you - ah…"

James recovered himself from a tightening jerk of Q’s body, struggling for a moment to keep his eyes open and his eyes focused on Quinlan’s. He braced his toes against the mattress and pushed into the other man deeply again, quick and almost verging on rough as he barely held on to his determination that Q should finish first.

Q went back easily, sliding against the softness of the bed as he reclined against it, spreading his thighs wantonly and easily, the tautness of his muscles echoing pleasantly their earlier burn. A sharp gasp pulled itself from his chest as James wrapped a hand around him, even firm fingers sliding against him with an intensity that made him want to throw his head back with the amount of need coursing through his body.

At the request coupled with that breathless laugh, his eyes snapped to his companion’s, bluegreen staring down blue with intensity, Q’s mouth falling open again as he panted sharply. The hint of roughness made him cry out, a sound that could only be described as pure pleasure, and his body arched towards it.

“Again,” he panted sharply, “fuck, harder.”

His body was riding orgasm like a wire, ready to snap with electricity at any given moment, sparking lines of fire under his skin.

James was riding a precarious rail himself as he thrust hard and fast, gladly acquiescing to Q’s breathless demand. His hips pistoned forward jarringly, seating him deeply within Q on each forward push and guaranteeing that their coupling would leave marks on the insides of the Quartermaster’s thighs. He changed his grip, rolling his thumb across the head of his lover’s cock on each stroke.

He fought his body, willing himself to hold out just a moment longer. Keeping his pale eyes trained on Q’s brilliant, intense face, he tried to hold back the mounting heat, the tightness between his legs that was so pleasurable that it verged on painful. He was going to come, and he realized suddenly that he had lost control of it already, moments before when Q had sworn.

Every sharp thrust, deeply seating himself on the length of James’ cock, drove him forward, and Q rocked his hips as best as he could, breathless ‘ah’s stealing their way from his mouth as he tried to control it, get his body under control. He would bruise, that was certain, but every bruise was completely worth it for the mounting release growing at the base of his spine.

"Ah," he breathed, “Quin—!"

He didn’t finish his name, leaving it an unintentional petname as something within him snapped, cracked, thundered with the finality of a gunshot. He thrust hard, involuntarily, closing his mouth on a sharp cry as he came, the heat and pressure almost dulling his vision as he spent himself.

The beginnings of his name drove Q to madness, knowing that he would only ever hear his name like that in his head - even cut off as it was. And to be completely honest, he loved how it sounded from that weathered tongue. All dry heat and intense tone.

Q moved to say something, the beginnings of the Agent’s name on his lips but it was stalled by the last final hard push into his body, the whisper of ‘James’ falling away as he gave into a moan.

Even through the thin latex barrier, Q could feel the pulsing of James’ release and the strength behind it, the way that he slammed his hips down, it was enough to drive him to madness and send him completely over the invisible edge, falling into his orgasm like the mouth of a wide chasm swallowing him up entirely as his whole body pulsed. His entire being flared with need as he kept focused on the Agent’s pale eyes, the want to throw his head back and scream so great, but James’ intense look was so much more appealing.

His entire body hung in the balance as he relaxed down from his orgasm, eyes threatening to shut behind his lenses, but the quiet intensity of the moment they were sharing, the simple shared look of what Q personally chalked up as one of the best encounters of his life, was so much more.

Q’s body tightening around him sent stabs of over sensitized pleasure-pain through James’ tired body, drawing another moan from the agent.  Satisfied by the sight of his lover’s pleasured face as he came, he finally closed his eyes and let his body sink down against the Quartermaster’s.  He kissed his mouth lightly, then his cheek, before resting his head against his shoulder.

This moment was the reason why the agent was as promiscuous as he was; laying there in the momentary sea of serenity that followed his release, he could imagine that his life was happier than it was, that the person in his arms would be there tomorrow and the next day.  It didn’t matter who it was, where they were from or if he’d even want them the next day; it was the fantasy of being a part of something unbroken and having a place, if only for a moment.

Even if Q could be there, the thought remained firmly in fantasy.  He’d never, ever ask him to.

He lingered for a moment longer before he lifted himself to withdraw slowly from the other man’s narrow-hipped body, aching slightly at the loss.  He settled against him against him again without saying anything, just nuzzling his jaw and neck with his lips as his strong hands played caressingly over his upper arms.

The solid weight of James against his chest was satisfying to Q, and it felt for a moment that it was simply just right. But thoughts down that avenue were quickly halted. This would not be a relationship. The Agent in his arms used sex as a weapon - for information, leads, or anything else it might get him. Q himself was too occupied with his work to even fathom a chance at anything successful in that department. Not that he even wanted a relationship.

That being said, he didn’t completely rule out a second encounter, should the opportunity arise. Perhaps he would wait until his body needed the release.

For the moment, though, Q wrapped his arms around the Agent’s shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, the scent of him overpowering, raw, and unbelievably male. It was nice to imagine for a moment - that they could actually make something work, that they weren’t both as fucked up as they were. But, it was better this way. One time they could each write off as a need that had to be sated. More than that and it could become an addiction.

Q’s body stuttered at the loss, rolling for just a moment to pull the condom from his softening arousal, sated for the moment, and tied it off to drop it gently on the side of the bed, relaxing into the hands of his companion, letting his eyes fall shut at the tenderness that James was bestowing on him in that moment. It was nice to imagine being loved, but he knew it could never be between them. Not like this. Instead of dwelling on it, his hands traced lazily over strong shoulders, opening his eyes back to be lazily-lidded, finally removing his glasses to set on the pillow next to his head.

James pulled away briefly to dispose of his own prophylactic, but was just as soon pressed close to the Quartermaster again. The usual post-coital endorphins and laziness had settled in and he was once again aware of his own sleep deficit. He kissed Q’s shoulder, then asked casually, “Staying the night?"

Though the words didn’t explicitly state that the offer was open, the mere asking and the heavy arm draped over Q’s waist made it clear that he was welcome to stay. It was unusual for him to offer, though it was equally unusual for him to sleep with someone who was both single and a close acquaintance.

At the moment he wasn’t thinking about feelings or future encounters; that moment was about the stretch of Q’s long calf against his and the comfortable warmth of his body. He hadn’t even started to consider what his next visit to Q Branch would be like, or if any of the other techs would ever piece together that their supervisor had ridden a double-oh agent cowboy style. He pressed a kiss into Quinlan’s hair and let his lips rest against his temple.

Q hummed slightly in response to the query, not exactly answering it, but absolutely content with settling where he was. One hand came up and curled around the back of James’ head, scratching short nails against his scalp, a smile on his lips. The simple act of smiling always seemed foreign to him after so long of staying detached from everything, but it felt right in this moment. Which gave him mental pause, but he quickly discarded the thoughts.

It was comfortable to just rest, eyes shut to the room, with his arms wrapped around someone warm. The casual intimacy was nice, comforting even, and he could relax into it, relax into the kiss against skin where his glasses normally rested against his face, the smile curling up again on his lips. A lazy hand trailed fingertips against the Agent’s spine, drawing them up and brushing down with his knuckles as the post-coital high surged through his body, making his limbs heavy.

Nothing really needed to be said, and anything that did could wait. Letting his brain click offline, disconnect, relax. It was one of the things that Q fought with, but it was there, and he let out a small noise of content, a breathy almost-sigh as his body cooled and was warmed by the Agent in his arms.

Content with that response, Bond reached over Q and lazily flicked the switch to arm his alarm clock. He settled in again, letting MI6’s lead tech continue to pet and stroke him. Without words, this was comfortable; both were sated after what James would qualify as very good sex and though James should have probably apologized for turning rough at the end, neither required it.

It was like most of their interactions - simply understood, despite any other noise.

In the morning, they would likely resume their quips over coffee. James might pull him into the shower with him before that. By the time Quinlan left his flat, he would have settled firmly into being Q the aloof Quartermaster again, and James would again be the irritatingly confident, fully armored 007. Things will continue on as normal, James reasoned as he shifted to align their bodies more comfortably.

He told himself that one night was enough, though he wasn’t sure that it was.

"Well,"James said, his voice soft with humor and exhaustion, “Wake me if you want a second go."

Q’s mind drifted, cast afloat in the sea of near nothingness, letting his mind shut down and relax into the simple pleasure of a warm body and a soft bed. It could have been anyone in James’ place, but the fact that it was his Agent, 007, the infallible and untouchable James Bond, that let him relax the most. The hint of danger in their involvement was exciting.

“I’m sure I will,” Q murmured quietly.

Most nights he worked until bleary eyes made him break for sleep, but his whole department was known for their horrible sleeping habits. Q himself had crashed numerous times over his keyboard, kept awake sometimes only by copious amounts of fragrant Earl Grey and coffee.

Sleep crept over him quickly, and quite before he realized it, he’d drifted off, fingers slowing their soft trail up and down the Agent’s spine until they stopped, resting low in the small of his back. And quite before he realized it, the alarm clock roused him, hand groping for the buzzer to snooze for just a few more minutes, smashing a fist onto the top of it when it wouldn’t shut up.

James leaned up on his elbow, reaching beyond Q to delicately switch off the alarm.  Like most well-trained agents, he slept lightly and woke with a keen sense of where he was and who he was with. He sighed lightly before he settled against the Quartermaster again, pulling him tightly against his front for a moment and holding him there.

He liked sharing the early morning warmth this way, but it was something that he could rarely enjoy; most days he woke alone.  He kissed Q’s hair lightly, then said, his voice scratchy with sleep, “There’s 5:30.  I’m sure you work today."

He’d been awake for less than a minute, and already his conscience (who sounded a lot like the former M) was scolding him.   _What are you doing, Bond?_ The previous night had been fantastic and was still wreathed in that comfortable, rosy glow that comes with giving someone the good, thorough rogering that they’ve been begging for since the moment you met them… but it didn’t change the fact that he had slept with the head of Q Branch, and that same Quartermaster was curled up naked in his arms.

Q rubbed blearily at an eye, hand groping for his glasses as he slid them onto his face, blinking the world into focus once more.

“5:30 already, hm?” he mused in a quiet tone, voice thick from sleep. “Unfortunately, I can’t miss today. We’re testing down in the range today. I have twenty-odd new prototypes to log results for.”

His brain was already back to whirring along at full speed, and he shifted, dragging a long leg against the Agent’s, a sleepy smirk on his features.

“I should get home. Unacceptable to come into the office in the same clothes two days in a row when you’ve supposedly gone home for the evening.”

There had been a solid week where Q had gone home only to pick up his always halfway packed bag and come back, running lines of cable and rewriting the entire mainframe, stopping only to shower and find coffee to drink while he worked nonstop. M had served him with six days rest after that, and it wasn’t something that he really ever wanted to repeat.

His hand drew lazy shapes against the scarred back of his favourite Agent for a few moments, pressing one last kiss to the top of his head before moving to sit up, rubbing an eye behind the lenses of his glasses. Already the walls had shifted back into place, and nude or not, he had already fallen back into his role of MI6’s Quartermaster.

Bond nodded, rolling onto his back and stretching luxuriously, arching his back and extending his sturdy legs, stretching his toes even.  He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he dragged in a yawn, then sat up as well.  A few solid hours of sleep coupled with a good shag were a perfect restorative; he felt refreshed and more mentally prepared to take on the day than he had in a few weeks.

"That’s probably a good idea…" he mused as he slung his legs over the side of the bed and climbed to his feet.  He was still naked and still didn’t care; the Quartermaster had already seen it and obviously judged it fine, scars and all.  He walked over to retrieve Q’s clothes, which had been shed between the door and the bed, “Shower wouldn’t hurt either, lest anyone notice that you smell like sex and my cologne."

He placed the rumpled bundle on the comforter beside him, then perched on the edge of the bed beside him for a moment.  He leaned over to kiss Q’s jaw lightly, half considering pressing him back down against the mattress for a quickie, before he sat back and asked, “Coffee or tea?"

Q flashed his eyes towards the Agent, taking in his stretches momentarily before averting his gaze.  He sat up taller to stretch his shoulders and roll his neck, sighing gently with the release of stress.

“I had planned on that, of course,” he murmured, finally moving off the warmth of the bed and standing, stretching his back gently. He smiled into the kiss, leaning into it subconsciously.

“Coffee first,” he said quietly, the smile lingering.

He watched Bond leave the room and scrubbed his hands over his face. Part of him had decided that this was a colossal mistake, and the other part of him wanted nothing more than to stalk after him and press against him, offer himself for a second go. He rooted through the bundle of clothes, pulling both mobiles out and checking them. Status updates from the constantly updating server framework on the work mobile and silence on the personal one. Satisfied, he pulled on his pants and trousers, following them with sliding into his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and loose.

He meandered out to the kitchen, the smell of coffee overpowering and it made him aware of just how much his brain craved the caffeine.

Wearing just a pair of comfortably sleep trousers, the double-0 agent was moving leisurely about the kitchen.  He had a simple coffee machine that he had set to percolate, and at present he was rummaging about for some biscuits.

James nodded to his guest, lazily walking over and slipping his arms around his waist.  He leaned in to kiss the Quartermaster on the mouth lightly, then laughed as though he thought that the other man would scold him for it.  Slouching forward comfortably, letting his hips rest against Q’s, he said, “You’re still in my flat and I’ll snog you if I want to."

Q wouldn’t admit that he liked the warmth that the Agent offered, but the look that Q gave him as he leaned in for a kiss was similar to the one he wore when damaged and destroyed equipment was returned. It was almost exasperated, slightly affronted, but Q murmured his regards anyways. “Yes, well, this is high time for a kitchen snog isn’t it.”

He found himself submitting regardless, and a wave of something similar to need surged through his lithe frame.

He could hack into the servers blind, knowing exactly how they operated and leave no trace, but he rebuilt them himself. Q smiled nothing more than a slight quirk of lips, one arm winding itself along Bond’s waist, the other finding his mobile to call up some files. He glanced at the screen briefly before shoving it away, moving his mouth along the strong column of his neck, intent on something else entirely.

“You’re clean,” he murmured against his collarbone. An abuse of power, certainly, but no one would see his invisible tracks to the report.

James tilted his head slightly to the side, allowing the other man greater access to his throat. It took a moment for his meaning to register, but when it did his hands, which had been at a gentlemanly latitude at his waist, slid down to his backside. He pulled him snugly against him, hip to hip and seamless to the knee, feeling a comfortable warming in the pit of his stomach.

He could tell that Quinlan had slipped firmly behind the facade as Quartermaster already, which made further indiscretions even more delightfully forbidden. Hacking the medical records was just as bad. He laughed quietly, turning his head to nip and then kiss his earlobe.

"Pity you’re on your way to work then, isn’t it?"

Q made a tiny hum of amusement, leaning away from the countertop to press firmer against the Agent’s body.

“Downright shame,” he murmured against his shoulder before giving doing a full-out slide against Bond’s body to his knees, looking back up at him before blatantly kissing over his groin. “I should be on my way home.”

The words contradicted his movements as he pressed teasing kisses through the fabric to the solid weight that the Agent was, fleetingly kissing against his thighs, fingers playing along his bottoms.

“You’re going to make me late, and people will talk. I’ll be late and end up wearing the same clothes and smelling of you.”

He made no effort to move either, blinking slowly behind his lenses, hands caressing the lower half of his companion, teasing against the waistband of his bottoms, torn between getting up and going home, leaving the predator of a man frustrated, and getting him off there in the kitchen.

Bond’s gaze involuntarily turned up toward the ceiling as he exhaled audibly, his breath catching at the Quartermaster’s voice and touch. He was playing now with the man who didn’t yield a centimeter and occasionally won when Bond would try to stare him down in Q Lab. Dangerous games, and he wasn’t entirely sure that this wouldn’t be a tease; already, he was somewhat shocked that the previous night hadn’t been an elaborate joke culminating in Q posting up his texts for the amusement of his fellow techs.

And there he was now, pressing his face against the front of Bond’s trousers, his breath warm and his mouth wet even through the soft cloth. God, James thought, completely irrelevant to religion; if he came down the Quartermaster’s throat, professionalism would go right out the window.

He licked his lips, lowering his eyes again to meet Q’s. He kept his voice light, though that husky quality had crept back in, as he replied, “Mmm… I could probably get out of some trouble by telling your supervisor that you’d hacked my medical record, which is a complete abuse of power…"

He laughed, his fingers carding through Q’s hair before coming to rest at the nape of his neck.

"But you know what they’d tell me?" he added as a joking afterthought, “‘Well, if he slept with you, Bond, he deserved to know.’ Oi, I’ll bet you’d be able to justify all sorts of evil behaviour towards me on the grounds that I rogered you. ‘What did you expect after shagging the head of Q branch, 007? Special treatment?’"

“Abuse of power hmm,” Q hummed, fingers teasing the skin just under the waistband of his bottoms, “That’s a dangerous accusation, 007. But then again, I have to admit that you’re my favourite of the Agents.”

It was as close of an admission that the Agent was going to get of any sort of fondness. But behind glass were warm eyes used to butting heads with him. He leaned his head back just a touch, pressing into the warm hand at his neck before hooking his thumbs in properly, sending the light fabric down muscled thighs.

For a moment, Q kept his gaze upwards, eyes trained on wintry blue irises, but they slipped down a broad chest and strong thighs to the not so subtle arousal at his companions groin. He quirked a smirk and slid his hands around Bond’s arousal, pressing a kiss to the underside of the head before sitting up on his knees, kissing along the length of it and switching to adorn his hips with tender kisses as well. The change within him, reassuming his role, remained, but a portion of him enjoyed this even as they both rearmed themselves.

“What would my staff say,” he hummed lightly, tender nips and kisses, soothing tongue on velvet skin. “How the rumors would fly.”

James drew an unsteady breath, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Q applying light kisses to his hips and thighs. He wondered if this was payback for the teasing play of the previous evening. He swallowed quickly and licked his lips, then smiled crookedly.

"I’ve said for years your department is the center of MI6 gossip…"

He trailed off slightly as a press of Q’s teeth caught a particularly sensitive stretch of skin. He laughed quietly, “Though the topic isn’t usually any member of Q Branch…"

He wondered what would happen if someone did find out about this indiscretion. Fraternization wasn't strictly prohibited (and James had put that to the test over the years), but there could potentially be concerns of a conflict of interest. But seeing as it was within MI6’s interests to keep their 00-agents alive, it was really no problem at all if Q were to be particularly concerned with the welfare of this particular agent. In any case, James wasn’t thinking too hard about MI6 at the moment, what with the Quartermaster’s mouth on his skin and his cheeks and hair brushing occasionally against his cock.

Q’s lips quirked easily into a smirk, especially at the accusation towards his department. “They like to watch the cameras, CCTV,” he murmured, dragging his teeth over the line of Bond’s pelvic bone. “I’ll have to discipline them more sternly.” _If I ever intend on getting away with this again_ , he didn’t add, instead choosing to pull back just enough to hover over the tip of his arousal, a smirk on his lips. “We wouldn’t want them to find out about this, now would we?”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, instead slid his mouth around the thick head of his Agent’s cock, humming lightly as he did. The taste of him without the latex from the previous evening was much more desirable, and a small noise of approval came unbidden as he tested and tasted, taking a small bit of time to explore before beginning to rock his head in earnest, eyes slipped shut behind his lenses in concentration. The heavy weight of it was delicious on his tongue, hands freely curled around strong thighs and the intensity that he gave to working or coding was all refocused here.

Q would never freely admit his fondness for the blonde Agent, or how much he actually enjoyed their banter. His cool collected manner when dealing with him was all true, and the frustration at disappearing and broken technology real, but under it all, it stopped surprising him to find Bond there at odd moments, showing up at 3am while Q was still working on a server section upgrade with no words but just a smirk.

For his part, Bond didn’t know what brought him to Q’s desk so often, or why his first thought after returning from a month long mission was to wander up to the labs rather than going home and simply falling into bed (either alone or with a beautiful woman). But he consistently found himself visiting the Quartermaster, often for little reason at all.

He watched him for a moment, not bothering to quiet his quickened, uneven breathing or to suppress the low moan that Q’s skilled tongue drew from deep within him. The wet heat of his mouth and the soft, slick pull of his lips on his bare prick was fantastic; the fact that he seemed to be enjoying it as well made Bond’s blood heat and his body even more sensitive.

James rested his hands lightly on Quinlan’s shoulders to steady himself, closing his eyes for a moment and just focusing on forming coherent words. He breathed, “Maybe I do… Think they’d be impressed…

The last syllable blended seamlessly into a short, earnest moan as his hips bucked forward involuntarily. He opened his bright blue eyes to look at the Quartermaster again, “Fuck, but you make it difficult to speak…"

Q gave a sharp groan of satisfaction at the involuntary movement, opening his eyes to look up, pulling off Bond’s slick cock almost completely, just the head of it resting on his tongue momentarily before sliding back down with precision, tongue rippling against the slick underside.

“Impressed with me or with you,” he murmured quietly as he slipped away again, loving the sharp breathless exhalations and wanton moans.

He continued with obvious and blatant interest, the calm and controlled section of his personality taking over, exploiting the places that drew the sharpest moans and worked shamelessly at eroding the Agent’s control. Q had to imagine that it would be almost like two separate people in this way, the sensual and slow moving section of him that was relegated to off-hours, and this, the clinical almost detached section of himself, both portions entirely him, though.

Thin skilled fingers and broad palms gripped muscled thighs, surely to leave the bruises he knew would be echoed in similar spots on his own body, the evidence something undeniable that this had occurred. Not that Q’s mind hadn’t committed every second of the affair to his internal read-only.

In the analytical observe-and-apply technique, Bond and Q were very similar. However, the agent had to admit that the Quartermaster’s repertoire of creative ways to use his tongue likely exceeded his own. He tried to note some of the particularly effective jabs of his pointed tongue to turn back on him next time.

_‘Next time,’ James?_

He wanted to tell himself that this was truly a one night stand, but even now his mind was flooded with images of Quinlan spread out beneath him, his smart mouth rounded in a cry of pleasure, and his thighs gripping his waist as he moved deeply within the tech. Remembering how his eyes had widened just slightly behind his glasses when he’d first impaled his narrow body on the agent’s prick, James couldn’t quite bear the thought of never having him again. Images of acts that they hadn’t committed yet pressed forward into the space behind his eyes.

He could feel his body already beginning to succumb to his lover’s attentions, and again the pleasurable tension was mounting.

"With me," he managed, though his voice was tight and the first word was more of a moan. His grip on Q’s shoulders tightened slightly as he began to feel a bit unsteady on his feet. His face and chest were flushed with pleasure as he added, “You’re the challenge…"

In every possible way.

Q was supremely satisfied with the reactions he was pulling from the Agent, a slight quirk of lips once as he pulled back, sliding forward again, banishing all thought from his mind. The situational separation, the Quartermaster and the Double-Oh, _in flagrante delicto_ in far more compromising positions that he could imagine, was exciting; more so than he would care to admit, even to himself.

He moved his tongue purposefully, sliding along the strength of the arousal he was mouthing, putting as much into making Bond come harder than he had the previous evening as he could. The taste made him moan deliciously, wanting more than just this one taste of him. The deep hum of satisfaction carried almost a vibrato to it, nails digging into muscled thighs harder as he curled down to the root of his Agent’s arousal, holding himself there until the reflex made him pull off some, the hum becoming stronger after that.

Too much in the past he’d been treated as delicate, something that he was entirely not. Licensed to carry, passing marks on more than a few weapons classifications, and a stringent gym routine left Q far more than just a computer tech. He knew that if this continued, which he was almost assured in a way that it would, Bond would never treat him as a delicate tech. He was the Quartermaster. 007’s Quartermaster. James’ Quinlan.

_Fuck._

That line of thinking had to be obliterated, and he put the whole of his concentration into the body he was pleasing, the strong slide of cock along his tongue and into his mouth had made him deliciously hard long ago, and he moved with his whole body as he worked faster and faster, fingers dragging Bond’s hips closer with each pass.

Sometimes James fought his body, forcing himself to last longer, push himself further, take everything to the limit.  He did it professionally, he did personally, he did it sexually.  Perhaps it was more than sometimes; if he was honest with himself, he almost never stopped.

At the moment, he was struggling to make this last longer, though he didn’t even know why.  His bare feet were braced against the floor as though he could fall off otherwise; his grip on Q’s shoulders was light, despite the fact that the Quartermaster’s solid body at his front was all that was keeping him upright.

His moans were soft, but earnest and growing in volume.  He swayed unsteadily, a soft cry passing his lips as Q took him deeply again and again.  The skilled attentions of his tongue and the warm press of his throat threatened to undo him as the Quartermaster quickened his breathing and pulled an unmasculine almost-whimper from him.

"Oh…" he breathed, “God, Q…"

Turning his gaze back down to the other man’s dark, inky eyelashes and focused expression, he stopped fighting; his body was still hypersensitive from the previous night, and he felt every flick of his lover’s tongue and tightening of his full lips.  As he watched Quinlan, he gave himself over to what he was giving him.

His hips bucked forward involuntarily as he came hard, gasping and nearly choking on a cry of pleasure.

There was a defining shift as Q felt Bond let go and feel, the soft breathy exhalation of his name made his lips tighten and quirk into a smile as he applied himself with a quickening pace to fellating his favourite Agent. The sharp arch of hips forward, the thrust of arousal flooding his mouth followed by the bitter tang of come made Q lean in and hold, the hot release pooling in his mouth while the orgasm shook his Agent, his body pulsing.

When it seemed as if the force of it had stopped, Q relaxed, shifting backwards to swallow the mouthful that he had, the back of a hand wiping away his lips, wet with saliva. He stayed on his knees for a few moments more before standing, dragging up the soft pajama bottoms with him.

“All right?” he mused quietly, sure of the answer, but asking all the same.

"Mm-hmm."

James was still catching his breath, his cheeks still flushed, and his body still humming with the electricity of his release.  The brush of his trousers against his softening prick made his muscles tighten and his hips jerk slightly, and the sensation of coming into the heat of his lover’s mouth was still fresh in his thoughts.

Q’s nimble fingers did up his shirt, tucking the back of it into his trousers, before retreating to the sink to wash his hands, intent on enjoying a cup of coffee before catching a taxi home to shower and change. He found himself turning and leaning against the sink, staring down the Agent with a cool look as if he hadn’t just sucked off MI6’s favourite agent.

And there was Q, leaning against the counter and giving him the most trying look.  His lips were slightly swollen from his debauchery and his hair was mussed from the drag of Bond’s fingers, but otherwise he was as cool and calm as if the agent had just imagined it.  He chewed the corner of his lower lip for a moment, just meeting his eyes as though they were two wild animals trying to stare each other down.

Still watching him, he crossed the small distance between them and curled his hand across the back of the Quartermaster’s skull and pulled him close to kiss him on the mouth.  It wasn’t a deep kiss, one without tongue, but it was emphatic and possessive.  A searing brand of ownership.

He didn’t cheapen it with other kisses.  Instead, he pulled back and rested his brow against Q’s, meeting his eyes steadily for a moment before releasing him and walking over to pick up his own cooling cup of coffee.

There was heat in that ice blue stare, heat and possession, and Q liked the way it looked there, a form of satisfaction ringing in his mind. The kiss was all solid pressure and ownership and possessiveness rolled into one and Q blinked behind his lenses, staring once more into those eyes, body taut like a wire at the Agent’s presence so close to himself.

James smiled at him before lifting the cup to his lips.

"So, you’re at the range all day… when do you get off?"

Q’s fingers finally retrieved his own cooling mug, leaning enough away from the countertop to fish the container of sugar closer, dumping two spoonfuls in and sliding it away, lifting it to his mouth, inhaling the fragrance before drinking some. His mind didn’t miss the innuendo, and he slid a palm over his own groin, mouth still attached to the rim of his mug, teasing himself before abruptly stopping.

“Mm, I’ve got to go home and shower, so I suppose I’ll have to make do then,” he murmured quietly. “Wrap my hand around myself and imagine its you, prop up my leg and try to get my fingers in exactly the same way you had them last night, stretching me wide open.” There was almost a detachment from the words, as if he were just spouting them, but he meant every one of them.

His attention refocused on finishing his coffee, rinsing it out when he’d finished, a slow easy smirk on his lips. “Or I suppose I can deny myself gratification until after I’ve done my range testing,” he mused. “Explosions do rather make me hot under the collar. I’ll have to shower again when I’m finished.”

James made an involuntary sound of arousal at Q’s description.  Composing himself, he smiled and laid a hand on the countertop on either side of the Quartermaster’s hips.  He leaned close to him and brushed his scratchy cheek against the younger man’s as he murmured against his ear, “I can’t even express to you how much I would love to watch you… mm, the thought of you with your legs spread and your fist around your prick, fingers in knuckle-deep… I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my mouth off of you."

His voice was husky and low with that same growly quality of the night before.  He didn’t often talk dirty, as he was a gentleman spy, after all, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy it from time to time.  He inhaled the soft musk of Q’s skin and the slightly sweet, distantly herbal smell of his hair.

The agent’s breath was warm against Q’s jaw, but he didn’t kiss the skin that was almost under his lips.  He maintained that slight distance between them as he continued softly, “Most likely, after watching you for a few minutes, I’d take my place between your thighs and kiss and bite, mark you up as mine while I let you finger yourself.  Maybe I’d put my hand around yours while you stroked yourself, tighten my fingers, make you go faster.  Slower.  I’m not sure.  Maybe I’d take your cock in my mouth."

He shifted slightly closer so that the front of his trousers brushed against Q’s, but it was just a glancing contact and he didn’t repeat it.

"Or maybe I’d roll you up onto your hands and knees, cover your body with mine, and take you right then."

Smiling, he stepped back and took a sip of his coffee, “Just something for you to think about later… unless you’d like to come back this evening?"

And there the offer was, spoken and irretractable. God _dammit_ , Bond.

There was a gamut of emotions coursing through Q’s body, most of them being related to lust, and the dark scratch of of both Bond’s voice and his cheek against the side of his face. He suppressed a visible shudder, the pricking of his skin beneath his clothes setting his entire being on fire. What he couldn’t stop was the roll of hips minutely forward at the soft glancing contact, a breathy ‘oh’ escaping him.

There was surprise and intrigue at the invitation. Bond’s reputation was that of one-nights only, ever the professional, never getting attached. He’d heard whispers of the betrayal that he’d faced before in Montenegro, but he’d never even thought about taking a peek at the paperwork in his file. It wasn’t worth getting in to, jeopardizing himself and his position for a bit of curiosity.

Instead of a response, Q merely finished his coffee, a slight smirk twitching the left corner of his mouth.

“Both, I’d imagine,” he murmured, setting the empty mug on the counter. “Because unfortunately, I need to get home.”

The Tube didn’t run this early, and as much as he hated getting into a motor vehicle, it seemed he didn’t have a choice this early. “Depending on the outcome of the range tests, I expect that I should be leaving my station no later than 10 this evening. If you’re still interested that is.”

The clinical tone was as if there wasn’t the amount of lust coursing through his system, demanding his attention at the current moment. “I’d be more than willing to explore each of those options,” he murmured, the tone of his voice dropping to almost a purr. “And the ones we discussed last evening as well.”  His fingers straightened his shirt, tucking the ends into the front, fingers moving up to curl through his hair, dragging the strands back from his eyes.

The other options mentioned the previous night held interest as well, though the agent wasn’t necessarily ready to give up that much control yet.  Yet?   _You can’t make a habit of this._ But in any case, it had been years since Bond had yielded to a male partner.  Part of him wondered if he even remember how to do so with grace and sensuality, or if he’d ever been particularly good at it.

Bond smiled mellowly, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “You can text me with your thoughts later… shall I call you a cab, Quartermaster?"

He could see that the other man was aroused; there had been a slight change to the contour of his trouser front, and his cheeks were slightly flushed.  He liked knowing that he could have that over Q, even if the slim, sensual intellectual had gotten him off in his kitchen as casually as if he had simply made him a cup of tea.

Q didn’t move but didn’t flinch at the show of at least slight affection. Or perhaps it was just courtesy? Best not overanalyze it and take it for what it was, he mused. “Nothing as crude as texting. I’m always listening as long as you’re transmitting,” he murmured. The earpieces he had crafted specially, the pair for the two of them to keep in constant contact, there wasn’t a reason to collect it back, especially if it would aid in this little endeavour. “A cab would be appropriate, I do believe, thank you.”

He smoothed his shirt back down once more, adjusting his glasses before wandering through the flat, gathering his shoes and socks, mobile phones and his jacket, checking his watch with an almost annoyed expression at the passage of time. Never had he gone two days in a row with need this strong in his body. Nor the willingness to engage in it recreationally. But here they were, starting the day together with plans to end it together as well.

_Interesting._


End file.
